


gryffindor's own (bloody turkey)

by aHostileRainbow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assassination Attempt(s), Because He's Barely Relevant, Crossover, Drama, Ficlet, Gen, Humor, M/M, The GOT Husband is Unnamed, so use your imagination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23099812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aHostileRainbow/pseuds/aHostileRainbow
Summary: Inspired by the first half of the first chapter of Tomb of the First Men.Harry Potter was put to sleep by a fearful magical society, to be awoken again if they were ever in great need. Thousands of years later, his tomb is found by Jon Snow and he wakes in the turmoil following Ned Stark's execution.
Relationships: Fawkes & Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Other(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 133





	gryffindor's own (bloody turkey)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tomb of the First Men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857026) by [sifshadowheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifshadowheart/pseuds/sifshadowheart). 



> This thing is so silly, y'all, but it makes me smile. Hope you enjoy.

Harry gasped, the dagger tearing cleanly through his middle. This was not how he had hoped for his rest day to go. 

He collapsed to his knees, hands turning automatically to grasp at those bits that should not be escaping his body, desperate to hold pressure even though he knew this was not a wound the medicine of this age could heal - nor one he could heal for himself, feeling a rush of unfamiliar poison from the blade quickly felling him. 

Huffing out a bleak laugh that barely qualified, Harry watched his husband step into the room and take in the scene. The taller man didn't take long to assess and then take down his attacker in a rush of fury. As he turned then to Harry, the wizard couldn't help but weakly mutter - 

"I could really use Fawkes right about now."

His poor husband was shouting - for guards, for healers - though they both knew it would do no good. Still others appeared at a run as Harry's vision began to blur and darken. 

Then there was a burst of strange sound and the voices fell quiet. Harry opened eyes he hadn't realized had closed, blinking slowly to try and take in the bright presence that had appeared above him.

A song, sweet and joyous and triumphant. Magic, a warm wave like nothing he'd felt in this age. Fawkes.

"Fawkes," Harry choked out the name, joy and grief overwhelming even pain. His husband must have understood, calling for the guards to lower their weapons, but Harry tuned them all out. 

Fawkes was here.

The last living remnant of his world besides himself, of course it would be a phoenix. Harry tried to smile, the bright blur of red and gold coming closer, yet his vision was fading again, the pain lessening with every breath.

"Sorry, Fawkes," he gasped softly. "Didn't meant to - " But the sudden end of phoenix song cut him off, as he felt the movement of air over his head, a sharp beak nudging aside his limp hands still over the wound. 

A mourning trill, three slow spots of heat in the deathly cold that had taken him, spreading warmth all through him as he drew in a deep, sharp breath, gasping up to a seat. 

His vision was clear. The skin of his stomach was marred only by a line of old scarring as Harry's eyes turned up to take in Fawkes in all his glory.

"You gorgeous thing, I can't believe you're here." His voice was a little hoarse, but Harry could live with that. His husband apparently could, too, stroking scarred skin in plain disbelief and then drawing him in for a fierce kiss that Harry certainly did not object to. 

Only an immortal, magical bird would interrupt, of course. A squawk soon pulled Harry from his husband's relief to snort entirely inelegantly at said bird.

"Careful, Fawkes, your house pride is showing."

Why exactly had he been happy to see Fawkes again? Where did a decrepit, asexual songbird get off interrupting his thank-the-gods-I'm-not-dead kiss to complain about lack of appreciation?

"What do you mean better than mine? Not all of us can be born with red and gold feathers, you overblown turkey."

Another squawk. Well, if _Gryffindor's own partner_ was going to seize this chance to whine about not being called earlier, fine.

"I'll have you know I woke up after _eight bloody thousand years_ \- which is a significant length of time for those of us who aren't immortal _shut it_ \- and promptly seduced a King before fighting and _winning_ a war against three kingdoms. How exactly could I be more Gryffindor than that? And where have you been, hovering over a beach and waiting for the most dramatic time to check in?"

The shifting of those beady eyes said he was more right than the prideful bird wanted to admit. 

"You ridiculous creature, come here and let me look at you then. You better have picked up a tan."

Fawkes let out a trill of laughing song that brought a smile to every face in the room, which Harry suddenly noticed was still a bit crowded.

Oh well. This wouldn't be the weirdest conversation he'd had to explain to these people. 


End file.
